as you move to sweep me off my feet.

But I’m not made of air tonight.

I’m armed and dangerous

looking for a worthy gladiator

to mount the swells of passion.

Leave your refinements at the door.

and sweep away the debris of crimson petals.

Savage my lips until they are as vivid as redwings.

Scavenge my flushed thighs glistening beneath you.

Do not speak of tenderness—in fact

do not speak at all.

Show me your passport singed with carnal musk

so that we can enter a room where our bed

burns blue as an anvil’s edge.

Splay me on the table against the azure wainscoting.

Our language is tongue and groove,

which I learn with each stroke of your cock.

We are both raw and fearless and cruel;

both taken and used.

I am an acrobat seeking a tight wire act.

I wrap my ages around you like swaddling strips

unjointed and unhemmed.  Rise up to meet me and I

will be there waiting at the arc’s pinnacle seeking release.

No light caresses tonight.

No sweet embraces.

Take your scalpel and undress my flesh

so I can close my eyes and own you.

Be a little afraid, as one hand drips with sweat and sperm,

the other knuckled fist is hidden in lava.

Listen closely and you’ll hear friction’s passion

frisson rising from electrified nerve endings.

And do not speak at all

We sit across a table,

a gloved hand arranging objects

forged out of heat—crystal, china, sliver.

A perfect setting for mind quests, loving jests, secrets confessed.

But the bantering cantor of past conversation

is gone, replaced by the slow gait of

terse politeness and the incessant woodpecking

of your blackberry.

It is a Bride’s bounty.

but I cannot pronounce you husband and life.

Clearly divisible, we are. And the remainder is

a reminder that no promises can be trusted

My eyes scan your face, and in the blank of an eye

You are lost again.

The wine is decanted along with our lives.

The steam rises off the plates and you

become more mirage than man.

The air around us hangs heavy

with the masky dampness of embargoed emotions.

We compete with restraint,

and you tear a piece of your ire

off the loaf of bread, following

the path of yeast resistance.

Your quips are edged weapons,

Sticks and stones that hurt me.

I don’t know what to with my arms.

Limbs that fit together so seamlessly

are now gangly appendages looking for

neutral ground. So I make calligraphic strokes

on the menu’s deckled vellum and remember past caresses.

We are powder kegs lit by candlelight.

The heat is not enough to ignite confidences

Never mind that passion that once invaded our lives

Like Norman mercenaries.

The water goblet leaves a stain on the soft damask embankments;

a Rorschach that I am primed to inspect.

Is this a passing phase of your moon,

an heirloom calling card of renewal,

or an outline’s shard of the end of us?

Adrift in our primal ocean,
sex was elemental—phosphorus:
so volatile we ignited without warning
so inviolate we needed a centrifuge to separate us

You carried me to bed with but one request:
“Look at me when you come.”

After

You drew me close and I burrowed deeper.
Snug under the soundproof quilt of your chest
eavesdropping on your heart,
I kept time with the double beats
from this choicest spot.

I will forgo my wanderings ways, I pledged.
Retire my tap shoes for a step-ball-chained
to a cul-de-sac

But those very words
deprived me of some vital elixir.
Our acrobatics took an anagrammatic turn–
Listen became silent

In the laboratory incubator, I turned the stethoscope on myself
only to discover that the life-giving surge
had been replaced by a faint pulse,
shrouded in a nimbus of grief.

Looking closely, I saw that the sheets
we fashioned into shapes were hollow,
sewn in place by amorous amateurs
who forgot to secure the ends of a thread.

I left you a note and a proxy, realizing
we could share lust, but not a life.

Afterwards, you close my shudders

and leave our bed.

I catch a glimpse of you in the mirror

now fogged with steam.

Your reflection is lost,

but your trademark is deeply imprinted.

You are not the only one

swimming in a liquid pool.

I am sticky as nectar.

Sweat beads decorate my breasts

like oversized costume jewelry.

The trace of your last kiss still clings to my neck

improbably balancing on a chord of muscle.

Surface Tension

I trace the droplets between my legs

in exquisite detail. 

Condensation.

You return with a smile and a to-dew list.

The physical separation is complete.

Distillation.

Molecules dance with your kinetic energy.

I am a galaxy of inertia knowing what will follow.

Evaporation